Muzak
by MasterShaper
Summary: A slightly atypical glimpse into what might the future may look like for the Sky High gang. Captain William Stronghold discovers a criminal on the run, but doesn't turn him in. What gives? AU. ONESHOT. COMPLETE.


**Muzak**

Captain William Theodore Stronghold cast one last glance at the unfinished paperwork covering the surface of his desk, half-wishing that he could spend the evening making some sense out of it. While filing reports was usually simple enough, the documents currently littering his desk were all reports from the department's little menagerie of informants. And of course, everyone knew that the snitches tended to submit reports written in only one format: haystack.

In layman's terms, that simply meant that finding any useful information in those reports was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

And yet there he was, all dressed up in a tuxedo, heading out for a night at the opera.

With a sigh, he left his office, double-checking that he'd locked the door on his way out, as always.

xxx

"Intel says Matthews will pass the red kryptonite to the fence during the intermission," his partner said, as they watched the mark from high above the stage where the orchestra was playing. "Tee-minus fifty-eight minutes, and counting."

Will grimaced, and tried to console himself with the thought that at least for a night, he'd be spared from the back-breaking work of saving a city from one supervillian or another. Invulnerability and super-strength only were skin-deep, after all; some supervillian confrontations weren't as superficial.

Briefly, the scars on his chest seemed to itch, as he recalled his near-fatal scrape with The Ventriloquist and his batch of custom-made radioactive bullets. Nightwing had been occupied with apprehending The Riddler, and so he'd taken on the call for when The Ventriloquist held up that bank. The price of red kryptonite had risen to astronomical heights on the black market after that, and that was how he had ended up being posted on stakeout duty at the Metropolis Auditorium that night.

Strangely enough, you couldn't just run a long-distance radiation scan on red kryptonite like you would have done for a case of regular kryptonite being illegally sold; red kryptonite could only be detected by the weakness it induced in superhumans with invulnerability that were unfortunate enough to be within its immediate vicinity.

Luckily enough, they had an entire SWAT team on standby, along with a former classmate of his. So far, they'd only spotted three of Matthews' bodyguards in the audience, and none were registered supervillains or their sidekicks. The orchestra was clean, too.

For a moment, will allowed his attention to drift towards the orchestra's resident conductor, Arnold 'Screamer' Kovacs, and smiled a little. At least with a former hero holding the conductor's baton, there wouldn't be any villains on the stage anytime soon.

"Sir, I see a familiar face down on stage. Might have been an old case or something," Justin said, frowning and gesturing towards the stage. "Check out the guy with the… uh, long tube."

He blinked once, and frowned at his partner. "There's more than a few long tubes on the stage, you know. Be specific. Is it the trumpets?"

Justin shook his head, and handed him a pair of binoculars. "No, no – it's the long, coiled one! Next to the one that looks like a piece of bamboo!"

Taking the binoculars from the rookie, Will directed his gaze down onto the orchestra, looking towards the bamboo-like instrument. Sure enough, there were two of them, but one was currently resting on a stand of some sort. Instead, its player was handling what looked like a gigantic wooden paperclip-

-and that was when his heart all but stopped.

Blinking hard several times to clear his mind and to be sure that he wasn't seeing things, Will felt a surge of adrenaline boiling up in his gut.

"Justin, during the intermission, you're going to have to take them in on your own," he told the other officer, earning himself a raised eyebrow. "Oh, don't give me that look. Cook up some charge and take Matthews and the fence in. You've done it before!"

"I take it you agree that the musician needs to be investigated?" Justin replied, turning his attention back to the woman in black, who they were supposed to be watching, and whose handbag allegedly contained several chunks of red kryptonite. "He just looked familiar to me, that's all."

"Good call, Justin," Will said, as he rose out of his seat slowly and headed towards the maintenance corridors. "And this might just be something bigger than what we'd anticipated."

xxx

After some moving around in the maintenance corridors, Will made his way to the musicians' break area. The man his partner had seen certainly was a familiar face, which he'd missed thanks to his faith in Screamer's post as the conductor. Mentally, he cursed at himself for taking the former hero's judgement for granted. Clearly, there was a conspiracy between Mister Giant Paperclip and the esteemed maestro.

He located the room which had been allocated for the conductor, and tried the doorknob. Locked, of course.

One minute and a subtly broken doorknob later found him inside the room. Several brief messages were fired-off to the SWAT team waiting outside the building, and he settled himself in for a long wait.

The clock on the wall showed thirty-six minutes until the intermission at nine p.m.

xxx

Screamer must have noticed that the doorknob was broken – no doorknob would've turned that easily - but of course, he didn't say anything, as was his habit. His Sky High days had been full of teasing for his power – and his father's – and so he'd turned out to be a quiet person after all.

When he saw Will sitting on his chair, in the room meant for him, he hesitated.

"And what are you doing here, Will?" he asked, his tone uncertain. "Is it the sting you guys warned me about?"

"Hello, Arnold," said Will as he got up, "take a seat, would you?"

For a brief moment, the young conductor seemed torn between sitting down and using his sound-manipulating abilities against his former schoolmate there and then, but opted for the former. He seated himself, and gave his unexpected guest a curious glance.

"Curiouser and curiouser, as the Cheshire cat would say," he muttered, as he leaned back in his seat. "So, would you mind telling me what's this all about?"

Will leaned against the wall, and looked him in the eyes. "What's the instrument called? The one which looks like a wooden paperclip."

"Paperclip?" Arnold asked, his polite voice betraying a hint of disdain. "Perhaps a better description is in order. Wood or metal?"

"Wood," replied Will, "and like I said, it looks like a big paperclip. A long tube, coiled into that general shape."

Arnold's expression became one of realization, before morphing into one of indignation. "It's a contrabassoon, you ignorant barbarian!"

Will shrugged. "So sue me. Anyway, you know who was playing it tonight. Why weren't we notified that he was hiding right here in Metropolis?"

The conductor waved his hand dismissively, and shrugged. "He's retired from the scene, like myself. Both of us have health problems, you know. And true art transcends mere legal boundaries."

Narrowing his eyes, Will stepped closer to Arnold, until he was face-to-face with him.

"You are guilty of hiding and possibly even aiding a known supervillain, Kovacs. Tell me, how long has this been going on?

"And do tell me, what possessed you to hire Lash to play in the orchestra?"

xxx

Thanks to a rather destructive thunderstorm several years back, the Stronghold family home had been badly flooded. Naturally, the Secret Sanctum had also been affected, courtesy of a poorly-maintained ventilation shaft, and so the collection of Sky High yearbooks residing there had been most unfortunately, destroyed.

Due to that, a surprisingly uncooperative Arnold Kovacs, and an impressively quick-witted Lash – who had left the building despite the best efforts of Will and the SWAT team covering it – Will found himself calling up Zack, of all people.

"Zack, Zack, Zack," Will murmured to himself, as his old classmate's phone rang. "Pick up, damn it."

As far as he could recall, the only person in his circle of friends who'd gone into music was Zack, and he had been known for his friendship with Kovacs all those years ago. While the odds were small – infinitely so, most likely – Will had played a hunch, and dialed his number, anyway.

"Yo, what up, Will?" Zack greeted him cheerfully after picking up. "It's been ages!"

"True, true," Will mused, glancing at their water-stained graduation photograph. "Hey, what can you tell me about Arnold Kovacs?"

There was a short pause before Zack said, "Screamer? What's he done, dude? Last I'd heard, he was retired thanks to a fucked up throat or something."

"What does he have to do with Lash?" Will asked him bluntly, eliciting a whistle from Zack on the other end of the line. "Those two are up to something, and you're the only one among us who's all cosy with Arnold."

Zack hummed into the phone for a short while. "Hmm, give me a moment. Lash and Arnie, Lash and Arnie…"

After a long silence, Zack spoke up, his voice trembling slightly. "Holy… fuck, man. Alright, you'd best be sitting down, man! This is… hell, even I'm shocked!"

"Just tell me what they're up to, Zack," Will grumbled, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "And why didn't anyone do anything about it?"

"No, dude!" Zack said hurriedly. "They were in band with me!"

"Say what?"

"We were all in the band together! You do remember that we had a band in Sky High, right?" Zack said, back to his normal, chipper self. "Lemme see… yup. I did percussion, Arnie did violin, and Lash played… the bassoon."

Will couldn't help himself, and let out a snort of disbelief. At least the instrument matched the suspect. "He used to shove you into lockers, and you played in the _band_ with him? What's wrong with you, man?"

"Hey, he was good at it!" Zack protested. "The music, I mean. And really, he was alright in band, now that I recall it, yo! Never talked to me, but got his work done."

"So what's his deal? Kovacs mentioned him retiring, but we didn't hear anything of the sort," Will asked. "And the last I checked, the super channels were silent on his whereabouts. He's been off the grid for three years now Zack, and now I find out he's been hiding right under our noses?"

"Alright, let's see… I'll send you his housemate's number, and you can ask him, man," Zack said, his shrug almost audible. "Really, that's the best I could do for you, Will!"

Will massaged his temples, and closed his eyes, only slightly curious as to how and why Zack possessed that particular contact number. "Appreciate it, Zack."

Five minutes later, a business card arrived in his text message inbox, and Will called the number up. By the time the call was over, Will felt a little ill.

He hadn't known that Lash was gay, and he definitely hadn't known that Zack had moonlighted as a stripper – using the name Mr. Glowstick, supposedly - after graduation.

xxx

A week and a successfully apprehended kryptonite dealer after the night at the opera, Will found himself seated across a table from none other than Jacob Eldritch, principal bassoonist of the Metropolis Symphony Orchestra, who was otherwise more commonly referred to by his nickname, Lash. They were at a café near the Metropolis Auditorium, occupying one of the sidewalk tables, and had been served with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, which the Gotham Cafe was renowned for.

The number Zack had given him one week ago turned out to have been Lash's number, and not his housemate's, which had made the resulting call somewhat awkward. It didn't take much for him to set up a meeting with Lash, though.

As a matter of fact, Will had surprised himself by giving Lash his word that he wouldn't be arresting him or turning him in to his fellow police officers.

Lash, Will observed, didn't seem to have changed much since his schooldays. He was still the lanky creature he'd been in Sky High, although he'd since grown his hair out into a shaggy mop that reached down to his shoulders, and wore a pair of thick-framed glasses that made him look nerdy, almost comically so.

'At least someone still looks the same as he did in school,' Will mused to himself, as he recalled how Layla now had more than a few tattoos, Warren now wore suits on a daily basis thanks to his work at an insurance firm, and how Larry was buff enough to work as a model. He himself didn't look that different, really, if you ignored his stubble and the slight paunch he'd developed thanks to his fondness for several tall ones, several times a week.

It didn't escape his notice that it was the first time he'd seen Lash wearing anything that wasn't long-sleeved; the sleeveless hoodie he was wearing showed prominent stretch marks all along his arms, making him look as though he had been badly burned in the past. The stretch marks drew stares, but the former supervillain seemed oblivious to the fact.

"So, Lash," Will began, "mind telling me how this all came about?"

The elastic man rolled his eyes, and slouched back in his chair. "You know how it is. Health acts up thanks to one fight too many, and it's retirement for you. Luckily for me, competent bassoon players are a rarity. Kovacs was a buddy of mine from band, and I got the gig. Simple."

"Not that part," Will sighed. "The part where everyone starts covering up for you."

Lash took a sip of his drink, and raised an eyebrow. "You mean where Arnie Kovacs covered up for me. Wasn't aware that anyone else did anything for me."

"Zachary Braun," Will said simply, causing Lash to let out an amused harrumph.

"The glow worm?" Lash smirked. "We've played a few gigs together since school, but we aren't brothers or whatever the fuck you think we are, Stronghold. Get it into that thick skull of yours."

Will gave him a questioning look. "Excuse me?"

Zack certainly hadn't mentioned anything about gigs with Lash after Sky High. Then again, he hadn't mentioned his career as Mr. Glowstick, either.

"Used to play the sax in nightclubs, whenever the money got a little tight. Still do, sometimes, just for the heck of it," Lash replied, stirring his hot chocolate, and staring into his mug. "He's a handy guy for drums."

"… That still doesn't explain why they'd cover up for you. I _could_ call this in, you know."

The smile that stretched across Lash's face as he looked up was positively carnivorous. "But you wouldn't, would you, Stronghold? Pinkie promises and being _perfect_, and all that. And I could get away in the blink of an eye if I wanted to, just like that night at the auditorium."

Putting on his best poker face, Will settled for giving Lash an indifferent stare. The former bully returned the gesture, and for a while, they just sat there, having a staring match while their drinks became more chocolate than hot.

"Alright, Stronghold," Lash finally said, not looking away. "I'll tell you just why Arnie Kovacs didn't blow the whistle on me. And really, it's like you said; a couple of people have been involved in this whole deal."

He dug out a pen from the backpack he'd brought along with him, and scribbled down something on a paper napkin. "Just remember, Stronghold, that we're not all bad. I was a jerk in school, but now…

"I just want to have some peace, and I'm talking not the type that can throw fireballs at me or those whining brats of his."

With that, Lash got up and walked away, leaving several bills weighed down with his half-filled mug.

Will couldn't find it in himself to go after him, especially after he'd read what had been written down on the napkin.

xxx

Eight years later after that afternoon at the Gotham Cafe, Will stood by and watched as Lash's coffin was rolled into a furnace. He hadn't been invited, but no one objected to his presence, anyway.

As the coffin slid into the bunker-like machine, he reflected that it hadn't been anything superhuman which had killed Lash, after all. In the end, it had been a genetic defect which caused his heart to give way, after his eleven years in hiding from the superhuman community at large.

Oh, a few had known, of course, such as the handful of doctors who offered their services to the superhumans in Metropolis. They had been the ones who knew that every time Lash used his powers, he had inadvertently shortened his lifespan by letting the valves in his heart gradually loosen. As much as his body was elastic, he had no control over how his powers affected his heart – the one body part he could not return to its normal size after he stretched.

They'd known that he needed glasses due to his bad eyesight, and had covered it up with contact lenses during his schooldays. And then there had been the musicians in the community, who may have disliked him in school, but who appreciated his ability with the bassoon and saxophone.

While not a fan of classical music, Will did enjoy jazz after long days at the office, and so more than once, he'd found himself at a nightclub where Lash was playing. More often than not, it was at a nightclub where superhumans were free to use their powers, and Zack was typically the drummer, to boot.

Speed was there at the funeral, along with an elderly Belinda Powers – who Will still found himself referring to as Principal Powers out of habit – and Penny. There were several superhumans there, including Zack, and no one seemed to care or even notice that there were more than a few wanted supervillains gathered in the same place, for once.

Maybe it was because of the unofficial eighth rule of the superhuman community: cemeteries and funerals are neutral territory. Similar things had happened at the funerals for Magdeline 'Magenta' Preston, Susan Tenny – also known as Gwen Grayson - and Ethan Wright, to mention but a few other superhumans which had perished in recent times for some reason or another.

As the doors to the furnace slid shut with a muffled, gong-like sound, Will reached into his pocket and pulled out a flimsy, crumpled piece of tissue paper. Eight years ago, it might have resembled a napkin, but right then and there, it was just like the person which had written on it once upon a time; thin and worn out.

On the paper were scrawled the words 'Marfan's syndrome, DNR, Metropolis General Hospital, Dr. Elaine'.

**END**


End file.
